


Sacred

by Bunnywest



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Barebacking, Catholic Guilt, Catholicism, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, First Time, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Misuse of Scripture, Noah is not a good parent, Oblivious Sheriff Stilinski, Peter is a priest, Peter is a terrible person, Religious Stiles, Sexual Coercion, Underage Sex, Unsafe Sex, Virgin Stiles Stilinski, You Have Been Warned, sacrilegious, you can see where this is going
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 15:19:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14335326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: Peter's the catholic priest who loves to seduce his parishioners, every chance he gets.Stiles is one of his parishioners, and he's exactly the sort of boy Peter loves best - lonely, unsure of his sexuality, and just begging for someone to take care of him.Peter decides to give Stiles what he needs.





	Sacred

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Twisted_Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/gifts).



> Soooooooo....  
> This whole thing was born of a conversation with Twisted_Mind, who innocently said " I think I need church."  
> Somehow that led to "Peter as a priest who shows all the young boys a good time."  
> It all went downhill from there, really. That woman is a Class A Enabler, and I wouldn't have her any other way.
> 
> Now, fair warning.  
> Please, please, read the tags.  
> Peter absolutely abuses his authority as a priest to get Stiles where he wants him, even though Stiles is kinda willing.  
> Stiles is also only sixteen in this.  
> I mean, it should give you enough of a hint that in my folders this was called dirtypeter.....
> 
> That said, I stayed up all night writing this, and had a hell of a lot of fun with it.

 

Father Peter’s young, for a priest.

He’s young, he’s attractive, and he loves nothing better than seducing sweet young catholic boys. Like Stiles, for instance.

When Peter was sent to Beacon Hills, he noticed him straight away. How could he not? Sixteen years old, all long limbs, doe eyes and lush pink lips that are just begging for a cock between them. He’s everything Peter craves.

Peter knows that Stiles goes to mass sometimes, and comes to the Friday night youth group, mainly because his mother was one of the faithful, and it’s the boy’s way of keeping the connection alive.  He knows that the boy’s something of a believer, but his father isn’t. He’s also heard rumors that Stiles has been seen casting glances where he shouldn’t in the changerooms, looking a little too long at the other players. These are all things that make Peter a happy man, because they’ll make everything so much easier.

He starts by dropping by the station during his first week there and making himself known to Stiles’ father. He tells the sheriff that he’s here for a month while the regular priest is on retreat. “I thought it best to introduce myself, in case you get reports of a strange man in a dog collar scouring your streets for innocent children to molest,” he says, deliberately bringing up the sensitive topic.

Noah squirms, and assures Peter that he trusts him completely, and he’s sure those days are far behind the church now.  “My boy Stiles, he goes to mass, youth group too,” Noah tells him, eager to confirm that he doesn’t think Peter’s a pervert, not for a second. “He likes it. I’m sure he’s safe in your hands.”

“Oh, I assure you, I keep all the lambs in my flock close,” Peter says, smiling beatifically. The smile’s a far cry from his normal knowing smirk, and it took him months to get it right. It’s all innocence and warmth and understanding, practically screaming _Baby Jesus, meek and mild_. The time spent practicing it was worth it though, because it’s allowed him access to many a warm body as he moves from parish to parish, filling in for the regular priests.

Peter’s bishop thinks he’s a truly godly man, willing to give up the comforts of a parish of his own so that others can take a break. Peter wonders what he’d say if he knew the real reason Peter likes to stay on the move – that there are always lonely young wives, always young boys coming of age somewhere, and most of them suffer from a both catholic guilt and sexual ignorance. Peter likes to think he’s doing them a favor, relieving them of both of those things. And he never _makes_ anyone sleep with him. He just....presents them with the opportunity.

“I’ll keep an eye out for your boy, Stiles was it?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know the young man’s name, and address, and which way he walks home from school.

“Uh huh,” the sheriff nods. “I’ll warn you, he can be a handful. You might find him quizzing you on the history of the priesthood. Kid loves nothing better than researching the hell out of anything new.”

Peter laughs, assuring the man, “I think I’ll be fine. I’ve handled more than one teenager in my time. In fact, I find that I often seem to form close friendships with them.”  He waits a beat before adding, “Especially those from non-nuclear families.”

Noah says, “Yeah, non-nuclear, I guess that’s us. Stiles’ mom passed when he was eight. Now it’s just the two of us. We don’t really talk much, but I think he’s finding it tough right now. I mean, puberty, right? The kid’s a late bloomer like I was.”

“Well, it’s a difficult age. With all those hormones racing around, he’s probably just confused, especially without a mother to talk to about these things,” Peter offers.

Noah sighs deeply. “He thinks I don’t know he likes boys. I mean, I could care less, but he seems to feel guilty as all hell about it. Sorry Father,” he adds belatedly, grimacing at his choice of words. Peter shrugs, and motions for him to go on. “I mean I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been avoiding that whole birds and bees conversation. If I could I’d skip it all together.  What the hell do I know about gay sex?”

Peter’s smile sharpens a little. Single dad, dead wife, no parenting skills. Perfect. He can definitely work with this.

“You know,” he offers, as though it’s only just occurring to him, “I could talk to him if you like. It might be less embarrassing for him to talk to an outsider, a professional, as it were.”

He can see the moment Noah latches onto the idea. “Could you? I mean, it wouldn’t be awkward for you? Isn’t it still a sin, being gay?”

“The church is changing, Sheriff. I’m sure I can reassure your son, and take him through the basics, without threatening him with hellfire.” He chuckles dryly as he continues, “I’m celibate, but I’m young enough that I can still remember puberty, and old enough to not be embarrassed helping a young man who needs it. Send him to my office tomorrow after school, I’ll make sure I’m free.”

Noah nods, saying “I’ll send him along. Thanks, Father.”

Peter tells the sheriff, “It’s no problem, honestly. Now I really should be going. Don’t want people wondering why the priest is at the police station, after all.” He gives a rueful grin, and watches as Noah squirms again.

Excellent. There's nothing like highlighting the elephant in the room to make people ignore it a little harder.

 

* * *

 

“Stiles, is it?”  

Stiles looks doubtfully at him, but he nods as he enters the room.

Peter steps out from behind his desk and walks over to the low couch in the room, indicating that Stiles should join him there. Stiles does so, still slightly wary. 

Peter reaches into his pocket and pulls out a chocolate bar, unwrapping it and breaking it in two. He hands a chunk of the chocolate to Stiles and pops the other piece neatly in his own mouth, moaning quietly as he does so. “Sin of gluttony. Can’t resist the stuff,” says with a wink.

Stiles grins back at him then, and the tension leaves his body a little. “So, my dad said you want to talk to me?” he asks.

Peter gives him his _trust me_ smile, and nods. “Your father was concerned Stiles, that’s all. He feels he’s let you down, to be honest. He thinks that he’s not equipped to talk about certain topics, so he’s asked me to help.”

Stiles doesn’t immediately defend his dad like most kids would. _Interesting,_ thinks Peter. Instead he slowly licks around the edges of the chocolate, before saying “Me and my Mom, we were the talkers. My dad’s not good with words.”

He finishes the chocolate, and sucks at his fingertips absently. Peter’s gaze lingers on his mouth as he imagines it sucking something quite different. It takes all his self control, but instead of leaning in for a kiss like he wants to, he says, “I understand. I lost my mother young myself.”  _Lie._ “My father struggled with some aspects of raising us.” _Lie._ “Especially anything relating to our bodies.” _Lie._

Peter’s parents are alive and well and living in Florida. His father’s a gynaecologist.

But Stiles swallows it all, his head lifting up hopefully. “So, you know what it’s like then? To have nobody to talk to?” he asks.

Peter nods. “I do. I remember how difficult it was as a teen. Of course, it didn’t help that I’m gay,” he adds casually, and catches the way that Stiles’ eyes widen in surprise.

Peter reaches out and places one hand comfortingly on Stiles’ arm. “I know what you’re thinking, Stiles. You’re wondering how I can be a man of god when I’m supposed to be condemned to hell.”

Stiles nods, and Peter doesn’t miss the way his breath quickens when Peter touches him. “Aren’t you, though? I mean, it’s wrong, Father Wilson says that it’s a sin, and I’ll go to hell, I mean – “

He breaks off suddenly when he realizes what he’s admitted, and blushes bright red. He can’t meet Peter’s eyes. He sits there biting his lip, and oh, how Peter wants to kiss those lips, but instead he waits patiently. When Stiles continues to say nothing, he says quietly “Stiles, do you feel guilty about having homosexual urges?”

Stiles ducks his head and nods, pulling his hand out of Peter’s grasp. “I can’t help it, OK?” he whispers. “And I don’t understand how it can be a sin if I can’t help it. What am I supposed to do?” he asks, finally raising his eyes.

Peter places a finger under Stiles’ chin and draws his face up further, so he can look him in the eye. He stares deeply into those amber eyes, bewitched by their depths for just a moment. God, this boy’s beautiful.

And Peter’s going to ruin him completely.

“Stiles, who made you?” he asks.

Stiles furrows his brow, not understanding.

“Who made you?” Peter repeats. He’s in familiar territory now, the script he’s used countless times to seduce countless boys falling easily from his lips.

“Um, my folks I guess?” Stiles hazards a guess.

Peter shakes his head, and asks again. “Who made you, Stiles?”

Stiles catches on then, saying “Oh! God did.”

“And does God make mistakes?” Peter presses.

Stiles shakes his head.

Peter leans in, far too close for a man of the cloth, and his mouth is only inches from Stiles’ ear when he murmurs, “So, if God made you, and he doesn’t make mistakes, how can you be anything less that perfect?”

Stiles pulls back a little, and Peter can see the confusion on his face as he tries to deal with the disparity between the opposing truths he’s been taught by the church. Peter smiles, warm and non-threatening, and says “Stiles, this is something we need to spend a lot more time discussing. I want to help you reconcile your sexuality and your faith, just like I’ve come to grips with mine.”

Stiles nods, a hopeful expression appearing in his face. Peter smiles inwardly – this boy’s almost too good to be true. But outwardly he sighs, and looks at his watch. “I wish we had more time for this, but I have another meeting soon.”

“I…I could come back, maybe?” Stiles offers.

_Hook._

Peter frowns. “Normally, I’d love to have you come back. But it’s such a big topic. Really, we’d need a full bible study to cover it properly, and I don’t know where we’re going to find that kind of time.”

“How long would it take?” Stiles asks, and he’s so desperate to be reassured that he’s not broken, Peter almost feels sorry for him. Almost.

“Stiles, we could spend _days_ on it. It’s normally something you’d cover at a retreat.”

_Line._

Stiles hesitates, thinking. Finally he says “My dad’s on nights next week. Maybe I could come and stay here at the rectory, and we could study in the evenings?”

He sounds so eager, Peter’s tempted to say yes, but there’s the small matter of the housekeeper who lives with him. For what he has planned, he needs isolation. He shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll just give you a list of scriptures, and you can come and see me if you have questions,” he suggests gently. “Apart from next week of course,” he adds. “I’ve hired a house near the lake, I’m spending a few days in prayer and fasting. It’s something I do regularly.”

Stiles latches onto that exactly the way Peter expected him to. “I could come with you! My dad won’t mind. Please?” he adds, and he’s looking at Peter with something like desperation in his eyes.

_Sinker._

Peter makes a show of thinking about it for a minute, before smiling and saying, “As long as your father agrees, and it won’t affect your schooling. I’ll ask him.”

Stiles beams, and doesn’t move away when Peter places a hand at the nape of his neck affectionately.

“I like you Stiles, and I want to help you, teach you what you need to know,” he says, and he’s not even lying. He’s going to teach this boy so much. He only hopes three days is long enough.

 

* * *

 

Peter calls Noah.

 He pitches his tone at just the right level of concern when he says “Sheriff, I must admit I’m a little worried about your son. He’s working through some personal issues right now, and he’s asked if I can help him through it.”

“Is it something I need to be worried about?” Noah asks.

“Not at all. But I wanted to ask your permission to take him away for a few days. We’ve talked, and I’d really like us to spend some time on our knees together, seeking God.” 

He hears the silence on the other end of the phone and adds lightly “Of course, that’s assuming you trust that I’m not one of those priests who will take advantage of a boy too young to know better.”

It does the trick, and Noah falls over himself in his haste to agree to the trip. “If you think it’s what he needs, I trust your judgement, Father.”

“I swear on the good book, Sheriff, I’ll make sure Stiles is well taken care of,” Peter says, grinning to himself.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, he picks Stiles up at six a.m.

Stiles is waiting with a duffel bag, leg jiggling nervously as he stands on the front step. His father comes out when he hears Peter pull up, holding his coffee cup, eyes still bleary with sleep.

He comes down the steps and extends a hand to Peter, saying “I want to thank you for this, Father. It means a lot to me that you’d give up your alone time to help my boy.”

“Well, isn’t that what I’m here for? To service my parishioners?” Peter says lightly. And then Stiles is in the front seat, bags in the back, and they’re off.

It’s only an hour to where they’re staying, but Peter wants to get there early, eager for more time to seduce his boy. He can already tell that Stiles will do his bidding so beautifully. He’s been wonderfully receptive to Peter’s suggestions so far. It won’t be any problem at all for Peter to convince him that what they’re doing is the _Will of the Lord_.

Peter loves that phrase.

It’s like a get out of jail free card.

Parishioner unwilling to donate to a ‘special appeal?’  “The Lord spoke to me about you, Mary, and he told me that you’d be thrice blessed if you donate a hundred dollars to this appeal.”

Young wife hesitant to take Peter to bed while her husband’s out of town? ”I know, Patsy, because the Lord told me, that you leave your husband unsatisfied. And he’s instructed me to share a blessing with you through my body and show you how it _should_ be between a man and his wife. Now sweet girl, if I’m willing to lay down my body in obedience to God, shouldn’t you be willing to do the same?”

Peter’s an equal opportunity plunderer – men, women, wallets, he’ll take whatever he can get. But his utter and absolute favorite is young boys who don’t know what they’re missing, like the sweet morsel sitting next to him, playing with the radio.

“Pick any channel you like,” Peter tells him, and he’s unsurprised when Stiles chooses a top forty channel.  He watches him as they drive, singing along with the radio, looking out the windows, obviously relaxed. Peter feels the tiniest pang of conscience when he realizes that Stiles really does trust him utterly and completely. He supposes it’s a side effect of having a parent who’s an authority figure – that unfailing faith in the system. The faith that Peter will exploit shamelessly by the end of the day, if he has his way.

He spends a good portion of the drive focused on Stiles’ long fingers, envisioning them clenched into fists as Stiles gasps against the sheets while Peter opens him. He doesn’t think Stiles will struggle, not really, not once Peter’s showed him that this is God’s will for him. But he’s certainly a virgin, and it might be a little much for him at first.

Never mind. He’ll soon come to love it. Peter will make sure of it. He's nothing if not considerate in bed.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they arrive, Stiles has started asking what it is exactly they’ll be doing.

“Will we be praying? Studying? Do I have to stay quiet and meditate? Because that could be an issue for me,” he admits, showing the slightest trace of nerves.

Peter laughs easily, reaching out and ruffling his hair. “I promise, you don’t have to stay quiet. In fact, I’ll be very disappointed if you do,” he assures Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t pull away from the touch, and Peter runs his hand down the side of his neck gently before removing his hand. He notes the way Stiles leans into him, and thinks about him saying that his dad’s not good with words. Apparently, he’s not good with touch either. The boy’s obviously starved for attention of any type.

Peter will make sure he gets it.

He unlocks the door and gestures Stiles inside the cabin. It’s basic, but clean and well furnished. Peter sends Stiles to put his bag away, and waits. It doesn’t take long before he comes back, the tips of his ears pink.

“Stiles? What is it?” Peter asks, even though he knows perfectly well.

“Um, there’s only one bedroom. And only one bed,” Stiles mutters the last part quickly, like ripping off a band aid.

“Oh?’ Peter says, eyebrows raised. He goes and checks, and comes out saying, “You’re right. There is only one bed.”

Stiles is blushing even harder. Peter can only imagine how embarrassed he’ll be when Peter gets him naked. But for now, he has to play out the next part of his plan.

Stiles asks “So, can we get a different cabin? With two rooms?”

Peter sits down on the couch, patting the space next to him. Stiles sits there, fidgeting. Peter takes his hand and rubs his fingers over the back of it in calming circles, getting Stiles used to the casual touch.  “Tell me Stiles, do you believe in divine intervention?” he asks at last.

“Um, I guess?”

Peter continues to rub the back of Stiles’ hand, shifting so he’s sitting closer. “And do you believe that God speaks to us?” he asks.

Stiles shrugs. He keeps glancing over at the bedroom door. Peter waits patiently for an answer to his question, finally prompting him with “Well? Do you?”

“Well, yeah,” Stiles says, eyes flicking between the bedroom door and Peter’s hand on his. Peter knows he has to play this next part very, very, carefully, because this is where he’s going to coax this shy boy to come willingly to his bed.

“Stiles, I believe that the Lord has a special purpose for you, and that’s why our paths have crossed. Did you know I only got sent to Beacon Hills at the last minute?” he lies smoothly.

“Really?”

Peter nods, all sincerity. He does love this part.

”The Lord told me about you, Stiles. He said I’d find a confused soul. He told me I’d find a boy who was in danger of rejecting the way he’d been made by God himself.” He’s moved from stroking Stiles’ hand to casually running his fingers over his forearm, but Stiles doesn’t seem to notice, too caught up in the fact that a God he’s only ever half believed in before has been talking about _him._ To a _priest,_ no less.

“How? I mean? How did he talk to you? Was it a voice?” Stiles is suddenly full of questions, and Peter smiles inwardly, knowing that he’s successfully cleared the first hurdle.

“I dreamed about you,” Peter says, and he reaches across to stroke Stiles’ cheek. “I dreamed of a motherless boy whose father works too hard and doesn’t have time for him. I dreamed of that boy struggling to accept the way God made him, trying to fight his urges, denying what for him is good and pure and natural. And I cried out in my heart. I said, ‘Lord, how can I show this young man that he is perfect just as he is?”

Stiles is wide eyed, and why wouldn’t he be? Peter thinks. Everybody wants to think that God’s eye is on them, watching out for them. And nobody wants to believe it more than a lonely gay catholic teenager in a small town.

Stiles breathlessly asks, “And what did he tell you?”

Peter strokes his hand softly over Stiles’ face and says “He told me to take you to a cabin in the woods, my sweet child, and to show you the pleasures of the flesh. He asked me, nay, _ordered_ me, to lay with you, and show you the secret places in men’s bodies that bring them joy. This is what the Lord told me to do, Stiles. And who am I to go against the word of God?”

He leans in and kisses Stiles softly on the cheek before drawing back.

Stiles is staring at him, open-mouthed and speechless. Peter knows it all hinges on this moment, but he takes care to keep his expression calm and unthreatening as he waits for Stiles to respond, as though what he’s suggested is perfectly ordinary.

Finally, Stiles shakes his head. “No,” he protests. “It’s breaking the law! God wouldn’t want you to do something like that.” He pulls his hand back and stands up, pacing back and forth.

“Wouldn’t he, Stiles? Are you sure?” Peter inquires mildly. “I mean, this is the God that asked Abraham to slit the throat of his only child. The God that told Onan to sleep with his sister in law. The God that sent his son to be born in a barn, and then die on a tree. Often what he asks us to do makes no sense, but only because we don’t know the whole story.”

Stiles stills in his pacing, and Peter can see he’s thinking. He presses his advantage, saying, “This is also the God that let the Israelites walk in circles for forty years because they were disobedient. Do you really want to anger him by not obeying what is obviously his will for you, my boy?”

Stiles turns to him, eyes wide.  “You can’t seriously believe that God wants this. I mean, I’m sixteen, Father.”

“And Mary was fourteen when she became with child. The Lord’s ways are not our ways, Stiles.” Peter stands slowly, and walks over to Stiles, moving carefully so he doesn’t spook him. He places a hand on the side of his face and cups it reverently, standing silent for a moment.

It’s all in the timing, now.

“ _Stiles_ ,” he finally says, and he breathes the name out like a prayer. He hears Stiles' breath catch when he says his name, sees the blush appear on his cheeks, and thinks, _Yes._

“My dear, sweet, neglected child. Do you think I would _ever_ do something like this if my Lord hadn’t commanded me to? This goes against all my vows. But the Lord wants you to know the pleasure of touch, and if my father in heaven thinks so much of you that he’s willing for me to sacrifice everything _for you_ , how could I ever say no to him?”

Peter has to admit, that last part was so sincere, he’s almost convinced himself.

And Stiles? Stiles falls for it completely. “You’re doing this…for me?”

“All for you, darling boy. A gift from god. And as his representative on earth, he’s chosen me to deliver it to you,” Peter says.  

When he leans in for a soft kiss, Stiles doesn’t pull away.

 

* * *

 

Peter kisses Stiles gently, expertly, until the young man’s panting against his mouth, and unconsciously pressing in closer, arms coming up to drape around Peter’s neck.  Peter coaxes him out of his clothes by throwing scripture at him. “The bible tells us that beauty should not come from outward adornment, Stiles,” he misquotes skillfully. “The Lord made you perfect, remember? Now let me see, and we can celebrate his handiwork.”

Stiles does indeed blush from head to foot when Peter gets him naked, and it’s adorable. There’s so much soft, pale flesh there, and Peter doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes roam hungrily over Stiles’ body. He’s long and lean, his cock soft and small against his body, barely a smattering of hair there _. Late bloomer,_ Peter thinks to himself, and that makes him think of cherry blossoms, which of course leads him to thinking of plump, ripe cherries, ready to be plucked and savored.  

Just like Stiles.

Stiles moves his hands nervously in front of himself, but Peter tuts and pulls his hands away. “You’re truly beautiful, did you know that? No need to hide.”

Stiles snorts, saying “Right. I’m pale and skinny and covered in moles.”

“As I said, truly beautiful,” Peter repeats. He’s still dressed, but that will soon change. First, though, he drops to his knees in front of Stiles. He leans forwards and takes his soft cock in his mouth, suckling gently.

It takes Stiles a moment to catch on to what’s happening.

 “Hey, wait, what are you – ohhh, wow, that’s – “ he stammers out as Peter sucks and licks, eyes closed, enjoying the roll and pull of the delicate flesh in his mouth. He does love to suck cock, but he also knows that if he can get Stiles to come, then he’s much less likely to object to what comes next. It’s an underhanded trick, he knows, but it’s extremely effective. That’s why he uses it every chance he gets.

Stiles is hardening rapidly in his mouth, and he’s making little whining noises. He places one hand instinctively on Peter’s head, and Peter quickly reaches around and grabs his wrist, pressing the hand more firmly against his head. He pulls off long enough to say, “That’s right, hold on sweetheart,” before going back to what he was doing. Stiles is sixteen, and Peter’s very good, so it’s not long before Stiles is pulling on Peter’s hair and thrusting his hips forwards wildly as he comes. Peter swallows it all down easily, and then eases himself off.

“Holy shit! I mean, sorry Father, I didn’t mean to swear, but Jesus! Shit, sorry,” Stiles babbles, as he sways slightly on his feet. 

Peter gives him his patented Father Peter smile, and says “It’s fine, Stiles. I don’t believe the Lord will mind, just this once. After all, we’re performing his will.”

He stands and leads Stiles over to the bed. Stiles looks slightly panicked, but all Peter does is sit him down on the edge of it, saying “Catch your breath for a moment. Recover a little,” before kissing him tenderly.

Peter’s found over the years that if you can get a boy who’s halfway willing, a little tenderness at the beginning of the proceeding translates into an eagerness to please later on. It also means that if any of his boys have second thoughts after the event, want to accuse him of anything sordid, he can fall back on his defence of _I didn’t force them, and they never said no._

Not that it’s ever happened. Peter might be _technically_ taking advantage of his conquests, but he always makes sure that they enjoy themselves. There are more than a few parishes where he’s welcomed back with open arms by certain members of the congregation. He suspects that if he plays this right, Stiles will fall into that category.

Stiles looks a little out of it, probably because Peter just sucked his brains out through his dick, and Peter decides to use his euphoric state to his advantage. “Stiles, do you feel that?” he asks softly.

“Feel what?” Stiles asks, a little fuzzily.

“Do you feel light headed, a little out of it? Do you feel good, like you could float away?” Peter asks.

Stiles nods slowly. “Feel pretty good,” he confirms.

Peter whispers “That’s the presence of the Lord, Stiles. He’s come to bless us as we do what he’s asked of us. He’s pleased with you.”

Stiles beams. “Really? He’s happy?”

“Oh yes, and he’ll be even happier once I show you how to please me the same way I’ve just pleased you.” Peter starts undressing as he speaks, stripping off efficiently.  It doesn’t take long before he’s standing naked in front of Stiles, cock hard and proud against his stomach.

Stiles stares, and says “You want to put that in my mouth?”

“Yes. I want you to put it in your mouth, and I’ll teach you how to make me feel good, just like I did for you.” Stiles looks doubtful, so Peter tacks on “Just like the Lord showed me in my dreams.”

It’s technically not a lie, he did have a very vivid dream of Stiles blowing him just last night.

It’s the nudge Stiles needs, and he hesitantly extends a hand to stroke Peter’s erection. “I don’t know if it will fit.  And I don’t know want to do,” he says, running his fingertips up and down the shaft.

“I’ll show you, my child,” Peter says, hiding his smirk. Finally, those lovely cotton candy lips are going to be wrapped around his dick. He eases Stiles off the bed and onto his knees in front of him. Stiles looks up at him, unsure of what he’s meant to be doing next, and Peter has to take a deep breath to stop himself from just jamming his cock into the boy’s mouth and making him take it all. Instead, he slides a thumb into Stiles’ mouth, saying “Just suck on that. That’s right, see? It’s not too difficult.”

Stiles sucks on the thumb avidly, as if his life depends upon it, and Peter lets a tiny groan escape at the sight of Stiles on his knees, and the sounds he makes. He pulls his thumb out of the boy’s mouth and while his lips are still parted, he slips his dick in. Stiles rears back instinctively, pulling off as he screws up his face, but Peter firmly puts a hand on the back of his head and draws him forwards again. “Try it again, that’s right,’ he encourages, but Stiles shakes his head. Peter loosens his grip and slips out again, and Stiles takes the chance to say, “I’m not sure I can do this.”

“Of course you can, Stiles. Doesn’t scripture tell us that it’s more blessed to give than to receive? And now you’re going to give me pleasure, just as the Lord intended when he gave you that beautiful mouth. Open up like a good boy for me, and I’ll go slowly,” Peter instructs.

Stiles opens his mouth again, and Peter presses just the very tip in this time, forcing himself to stop.  “Now, you start sucking on that, and when you’re used to it we’ll add a little more,” Peter says. He figures it probably won’t hurt to take a little more time with this. After all, they have three days.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes half an hour of gentle coaxing and murmured praises, and three tries, before Stiles manages to get half of Peter’s length inside his mouth without gagging. Peter uses the hair on the back of Stiles’ head to instruct him how to move his mouth up and down the shaft, and gets him to wrap a hand around the rest of it.

Once he gets the hang of it, Stiles gives a sloppy but acceptable blow job, and Peter hums as he closes his eyes and revels in the feel of the hot mouth sliding clumsily up and down his shaft. He knows he’s going to come soon, and he’d prefer it if Stiles swallowed. He puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, stilling his movements, telling him “You’re doing so well, Stiles. When I come, I’d like you to swallow it.”

Stiles pulls off, shaking his head and starting to protest, but Peter puts up a hand and he falls silent. “Stiles, have you ever spat out your communion?”

Stiles eyes go wide. “I would never!”

Peter thanks whatever genius came up with the whole literal body of Christ schtick, because it’s certainly making things easier for him now.

“Now, you know that as a priest I’m God’s earthly vessel?” he starts. Stiles nods. Peter continues “So that means that this is the body of the Lord, Stiles. If you refuse me, you’re refusing our heavenly father. Not swallowing what I give you would be the same as spitting out communion.”

He can see doubt flitting across Stiles’ face, mouth hanging open, and he takes the chance to slide his cock back inside. “Remember Stiles, the Lord wants you to do this,” Peter says, and starts to thrust a little harder, because he really is close, and by now he’s impatient. Stiles tries his best to keep up with the pace Peter sets, and he does a fairly good job of it. Peter holds his head firmly. “That’s right, harder,” he encourages, and Stiles must realise that the only way out is through, because suddenly he’s moving faster, and sucking harder, and it’s absolutely perfect. Peter thrusts forwards, groaning as he comes, and Stiles struggles to swallow it all, but he fails miserably.

 Peter watches as come oozes out of Stiles’ mouth, and he feels a deep sense of satisfaction that this is going so well for him. He’d honestly doubted whether Stiles would be able to do this at first, but his boy’s outdone himself.

“That was wonderful, Stiles. You were so good for me,” Peter croons, and he sees Stiles perk up a little under the praise. Really, this boy’s just begging for some kind words and affection.

Peter helps him up off the floor. “My cup runneth over,” he says with a pleased smile, as he pulls back to swipe his thumb through the spilled seed running down Stiles’ chin.  Then he goes back to kissing him, not the gentle little pecks from before, but a deep, passionate kiss. He can taste himself in the boy’s mouth, and it’s a heady feeling.

 Stiles doesn’t respond at first, caught by surprise, but Peter persists, slipping his tongue inside Stiles’ mouth, pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth, and soon the boy begins to respond.

Peter runs flat palms down Stiles’ sides, enjoying the feel of hot young flesh beneath his fingertips, and he discovers that Stiles has a sensitive spot just over his hips. He shudders whenever Peter touches it, so he pays the area special attention, and soon Stiles is moaning and writhing in his arms.

He pulls away long enough to ask “Does this feel good Stiles? Are you enjoying it?” and is rewarded with a mumbled _uh huh_ as Stiles tries to kiss him and answer him at the same time.

Peter slides his hands around and teases those same areas of flesh a little more, and he can feel Stiles starting to harden against him. _Oh, to be sixteen again,_ he thinks.

He slips a hand between their bodies and takes a firm hold of Stiles’ erection, hearing the sharp intake of breath as he does so. “This is the Lord’s way of telling you he’s pleased with you, Stiles. It’s a blessing, to be shared.”

“Huh?” Stiles asks, distracted by the way Peter’s hand is moving up and down.

“Let me take care of you, my boy,” Peter soothes, and he guides Stiles backwards towards the bed, laying him down and joining him. He expertly strokes Stiles to completion, and his second orgasm hits the boy with a force that leaves him shaking. Peter pulls him close and holds him, tells him he’s doing so well, that his body is a temple, and that Peter’s simply worshipping at his altar.

Stiles only hears about half of what he’s saying, Peter can tell, but that’s fine, it’s what he was hoping for – a blissed out, pliant boy who won’t object when Peter wrecks him.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles lies lax in Peter’s arms, and Peter doesn’t do anything for the next hour or so but stroke his boy’s soft skin, kissing his collarbones, telling him he’s a work of art, that he was made for this, that he’s pleasing Peter so much just by being here. Every time he praises him, he sees a smile appear on Stiles’ face, sees him flush with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. Finally, Stiles mutters “You don’t have to keep saying that, I know it’s not true,” after Peter’s told him he’s beautiful yet again.

“Stiles, are you saying that I’m lying?” Peter asks with an arched brow. 

Stiles shakes his head, saying “I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just, I don’t have much to offer. I’m just a skinny kid. I’m not even slightly hot. Not like you are.”

Stiles’ admission that he finds him attractive is music to Peter’s ears. He sits up, letting the sheet fall loosely around his hips and leaving his well-defined torso on display. Peter works out for an hour every morning, just so he can have moments like this. “Would you like to touch me, Stiles?” he asks.

Stiles sits up as well, extending a hand. “Can I?” he asks shyly. Peter reaches out and takes Stiles’ hand, placing it on his chest over his steadily beating heart.

“You can touch all of me. This what we’re here for, for you to learn to take pleasure from a man’s body, just the way God intended,” Peter assures him. He knows that if he lets Stiles touch till his heart’s content, he’ll hardly be able to refuse when Peter wants to do the same thing. And Peter does want. He wants to squeeze those ass cheeks in his hands, wants to spread those long, coltish legs wide, wants to bury his face between them and make Stiles beg as he licks him open. And he will. He’ll do it all.

But for now, he lays back down, drawing Stiles with him, and says “Use your hands, Stiles. Use your mouth. Take your time, explore. My body’s here for you to use, remember. It’s a gift to you.”

At first, Stiles doesn’t do much more than run his hands up and down Peter’s chest, seemingly content to tangle his fingers in Peter’s chest hair and trace his abs with long drags of his fingertips, but then he gets a little more confident, rubbing the flat of his thumb over Peter’s nipple, and Peter makes a show of arching his back and moaning. Stiles grins, and does it again, and Peter gives him the same reaction. “You’re very clever, Stiles. How did you know I’d like that so much?” Peter murmurs, giving Stiles the sort of pleased look that you’d give a small child who’s tied their own laces for the first time.

Stiles squirms and blushes under the gaze, before admitting,” I’m kinda sensitive there myself.”

Peter smiles broadly at that news. He says “You know, you could use your mouth on me. I wouldn’t mind,” acting for all the world like he’s bestowing a great favor.

Stiles eyes light up at the suggestion, and he leans forwards and sucks at one nipple, pulling away with a gasp as he feels it pebble and harden under his tongue. His eyes flick up to Peter’s face as he asks “Is it meant to do that?”

“It is if you’re doing it right,” Peter assures him. “Try a little more, see what happens.”

Stiles dives back in, suckling on the other side, and the wet heat and the firm suction make Peter’s cock start to fill, as he knew it would. He lets out a series of gasps and sighs, holding Stiles’ head gently in place against his chest. Stiles starts to move his tongue in circles, and Peter moans loudly and presses upwards. It’s not all acting, it really does feel good, but he plays it up a little to encourage his boy, and it works wonderfully. Stiles starts to suck in earnest, and then, gathering his nerve, he bites down lightly.

Peter bucks up against him, and that’s _not_ acting. “Oh, sweet boy. You’re a natural,” he groans, and pulls Stile’s head away from his chest. He takes Stiles hand and guides it down to where he’s hard, saying “See what you’ve done to me?”

Stiles looks down at the twitching cock under his palm and breathes out “Really?” as if he can’t quite believe he could have that effect on anyone. The boy clearly has no idea how delicious he is.

Peter rolls them over so that he’s straddling Stiles and Peter’s cock is pressing into his thigh, hard and insistent. “Yes, really,” he growls out. “And now you’ve gotten me so hard, what are you going to do about it? It would be wrong to tease me and then leave me like this.”

Stiles makes a confused noise. “What do you want me to do?” he asks.

“Oh, Stiles,” Peter sighs out. “I want you to let me teach you. There's so much you don’t know. But that’s why I was sent, to show you everything. I'm guessing you don’t want to use your mouth?"

Stiles shakes his head vigorously.

"That's a shame, but I understand. You can do other things though, to help me find release. It would please me so much.”

Stiles nods, eager to gain Peter’s approval. “Anything. Just let me help.”

“Anything Stiles?” Peter asks.

Stiles nods again.

“You’ll submit yourself to my will? Take my word as though it’s coming from God himself?” Peter presses.

He lets a note of authority creep into his voice, and watches as Stiles responds instinctively.

“I will, Father. I’ll do whatever you say,” he promises blindly.

Peter leans in to kiss Stiles, and smiles at him fondly. “I knew you wouldn’t fail me, child,” he says, suddenly all warmth and affection, and Stiles absolutely melts into his touch when Peter rolls over into his back and pulls Stiles into his arms.

Touch starved boys are the easiest to persuade, Peter always finds.

 

* * *

 

 

When Peter positions Stiles face down on the bed, he can tell the boy’s nervous, but he does as Peter asks, and that’s all Peter really cares about for now. He’s so close to his goal, the round ass in front of him taunting him as he places his hands on it and spreads the cheeks wide. Stiles breathes in sharply, but doesn’t move. Excellent.

“Good boy, Stiles. You’ve been so good for me up till now, my child,” he praises. As he looks down at the tight pink hole before him, he continues “You know the bible says that God values obedience over sacrifice, so to please him I need you to do exactly as I say, and not resist me.”

He looks at Stiles lying there, and has a sudden, wild desire to just yank the boy back onto his cock, prep be damned. Stiles would look so pretty crying, he thinks. But he pushes the thought aside.

If he can make this first fuck a good one, then he’ll have three more days with a willing bedfellow. If Stiles doesn’t enjoy it, then he’ll be reluctant and skittish. Peter will have to work that much harder to get him to try it again, and he really can’t be bothered.

With that in mind, he kisses down the length of Stiles’ spine, making sure to brush his stubble against the sensitive spots near his hips. He breathes hotly against his pucker, blowing softly and watching it twitch. He drags his tongue across the furled muscles, and feels Stiles tense up, making a shocked sound.

“No, Peter, you can’t! That’s dirty!” Stiles cries, sounding scandalized.

Peter chuckles low in his throat. He pulls away to whisper, “Taste and see that the Lord is good, Stiles,” before going back to lapping at the tender flesh. He'd love to spend more time doing this, can already feel the muscles relaxing under his tongue, but he can sense that Stiles is struggling to keep still, and he doesn’t want to upset him, so he reluctantly stops. He hears the sigh of relief that Stiles lets out, and pats his thigh reassuringly.

“It’s all right not to like everything, Stiles. All I ask is that you _try_ everything,” he purrs.

“And if I don’t like it, we stop?” Stiles asks.

“What about, we stop after I’m satisfied you’ve given yourself a chance to like it?” Peter counters. “Some things take a while to feel good.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that,” Stiles nods, like he has any choice in the matter. He hesitates, and then admits, “I did like it, kind of. The licking. But I couldn’t enjoy it. It was embarrassing.”

“Because you felt you were dirty down there?” Peter asks gently.

Stiles nods, blushing.

“How about this, then? You go into the bathroom, and you take a shower. You get yourself nice and clean for me, inside _and_ out mind you,” he emphasizes. “Then you come back to bed, knowing you’re ready for whatever happens next.”

Stiles looks back over his shoulder, features drawn together in a frown. “Are you going to…to fuck me?” he asks in a rush, face turning crimson at his use of the word. Or maybe at the prospect, Peter doesn’t know. He doesn’t much care either, to be honest.

“No, child. I’m not going to _fuck_ you,” he replies. “What I am going to do is show you how good your body can feel. I’m going to show you that intimacy between men is a beautiful and wonderful thing, and nothing to shy away from. After all, why did God make it feel so good if we weren’t meant to do it?”

Stiles has no answer to that, but Peter sees the way his shoulders relax a little more, and he smiles. He didn’t expect Stiles to put up any sort of fight, not really, not with how willing he’s been so far. The boy’s a natural.

He slaps him playfully on the ass, and says “Bathroom. Now. Come out when you’re ready, and I’ll be waiting to show you how good this can be.”

Stiles yelps at the sting, and shuffles off the bed. He hesitates, looking at Peter’s erection. “What about that?”  he asks.

“It will still be here when you get back, Stiles. I promise you that,” Peter smirks. He runs a hand lazily up and down the shaft. “Just don’t take too long, OK?”

Stiles nods, saying “Yes, Father,” a little breathlessly and scampering into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Peter lays back on the bed and continues stroking his cock, mentally congratulating himself on his excellent choice. Stiles has been in his care for less that three hours, and he’s proving to be just as pliable and obedient as Peter had hoped. In fact, Peter would almost says Stiles is eager.

All going well, he’ll be buried deep in his ass before lunch.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles takes his time in the bathroom, but Peter doesn’t mind. It gives him time to get the lube from his bag. He looks at the box of condoms, but decides against them. He knows that Stiles is clean, and he much prefers the sweet drag of moist flesh to the feel of latex. Besides, as far as Stiles knows, Peter’s never done this before.

When Stiles finally emerges, pink cheeked and ruddy from the hot shower, Peter’s waiting for him between the sheets. He only hesitates for a moment before climbing into bed beside him, and Peter rewards him with a kiss. Stiles clings to him, and Peter can feel the nerves radiating off his boy, but he pretends not to notice, just kissing him and running a hand down his back. Stiles finally takes a breath, and asks “Is it OK to be nervous?”

“Of course it’s OK. But know that I don’t intend to hurt you, child,” Peter soothes him. He can’t promise that it won’t sting a little, but he’ll do his best to make it good. He rolls Stiles over onto his stomach, and tells him “Breathe deep now, and just relax, it will make this easier for you.”

As he speaks, he slicks his hand up with lube, and starts to slip one finger inside. Peter’s always had delicate hands, and as he presses forwards steadily the tip slides in easily. Stiles makes a tiny hurt noise, but Peter ignores it, just keeping his other hand on the small of Stiles’ back, holding him still as he slides his finger in and out, in and out.

“Peter, I don’t like it!” Stiles cries out. He squirms under Peter’s hand, but his thin frame is no match for Peter’s muscled one, and he can’t get away.

“Hush child, I’m not hurting you. Remember what I told you? Sometimes it takes time to feel good. It’s how the Lord rewards us for our patience,” Peter chides him.

Honestly, sometimes he wonders how the hell he comes up with what comes out of his mouth. But it does the trick, and Stiles settles a little.  His breathing’s rapid and uneven, but he’s not trying to get away anymore, and that’s the main thing.

Peter persists with one finger until it’s sinking in all the way easily and Stiles has stopped flinching. He doesn’t warn Stiles when he adds the second finger, and he picks up the pace a little. Stiles gasps and makes a hurt sound. “Remember Stiles, patience and obedience. You just need to get through this, so I can make you feel good,” Peter soothes.  

Stiles sniffles a little against the mattress, but he nods. Peter can feel him opening nicely around his fingers, perfect boy that he is. He stretches him a little more before pressing in as deep as he can go, searching for that spot.

He finds it easily, and Stiles groans as Peter massages the gland. “Feel that right there, Stiles? That was put there just for your pleasure. Tell me, how can this be wrong when we were designed so it would feel good?”  He twists his fingers once again as he speaks, just to make sure the message hits home. Stiles cries out at the sensation, and Peter smiles wickedly.

Nearly there.

He continues to finger Stiles open, stretching him carefully, making sure he targets the boy’s prostate so that by the time Peter hauls him back onto his knees, he’s hard and dripping. Peter feigns surprise, saying “Again, Stiles?”

Stiles is desperately squirming under his touch, and he nods, saying “Can’t help it, it feels good.”

“Well that’s wonderful, my boy. That’s exactly what we want. Can you imagine how good it’s going to feel when I fill you properly?” Peter coos. Stiles tenses up just for moment, but Peter runs a hand over his hip and says “I’ll be gentle, and it will feel so good. Trust me, Stiles. I’m doing the Lords’ work here.”

Stiles relaxes at that, and Peter takes his fingers out of the boy’s ass, leaving it twitching and open. He presses between Stiles’ shoulder blades, forcing him down so his chest is against the bed and his back is arched prettily. “Are you ready, Stiles?” Peter asks. He’s found that the illusion of consent is always a good idea. Just to be sure, he reaches underneath Stiles and starts stroking his dick.

Stiles rocks forwards into his hand, and Peter lubes up his cock and then lines up the head, resting it gently against Stiles’ opening. “It’s time. Bear down a little, let me in,” he instructs, pressing forwards steadily. There’s resistance, of course there is, but Peter persists, until finally he manages to catch the angle just right, and in one push he’s halfway inside.

Stiles tenses and groans, but Peter ignores him. He doesn’t want to drag this part out – better to get all the way inside the boy, and then he can start making him feel good. Drawing it out will just make it harder on Stiles.  He stills to catch his breath, before pressing forwards again. He doesn’t stop till he’s bottomed out, and he can hear Stiles drawing great ragged breaths below him, verging on panic. That’s the last thing he wants, so he leans forwards and whispers in his ear. “So good, Stiles. I’m so proud of you. This is the worst of it, I promise. A little stretch, a little burn, but it’s just like a pulled muscle. You’ll see, it will feel good once I start moving.”

Stiles whimpers beneath him, and Peter can feel the cock in his hand softening. That’s not what he wants at all. He wants Stiles to come while he’s inside him, wants to feel clenching around him, all hot and tight and delicious.  

So Peter begins to stroke him gently, and kiss the back of his neck, making soothing noises. He keeps his hips stock still, allowing Stiles time to adjust to his size. He knew it would be a stretch for the boy to take him, and he’s prepared to be generous and wait a little, now that he’s inside. It’s really no hardship, the way the muscles are squeezing and twitching around him as Stiles’ body tries to make sense of what’s happening.

He continues to work Stiles with his hand, coaxing him back to hardness, and starts to rock his hips in tiny movements, barely half an inch at a time. “Breathe deep, Stiles, I promise it’s only going to get better. You know the bible says we must enter through the narrow gate to find paradise,” Peter reminds him.

Personally, he’s fairly certain that the clenching heat of his boy’s virgin ass is as close to paradise as he’s going to get, and right now, he’s surprisingly all right with that.

He can feel Stiles slowly relax as he does as Peter says, taking deep breaths, bearing down, trying to keep as still as he can while he breathes through the burn. “Good boy, Stiles. I’m so pleased with you. Now, are you ready for your reward?”

Stiles turns his head to the side at that, and Peter can see that his eyes are damp with unshed tears. “Reward?” he asks, breath hitching.

“Yes, darling boy.  All those who suffer for the will of the Lord are rewarded, you know that,” Peter tells him gently. He drags Stiles back a little more by the hips, and says “Go ahead and touch yourself, child. I need both hands to make this good for you.” 

As he speaks, he pulls out much further than before, and aiming carefully, thrusts back in. His cock rubs across Stiles’ prostate, and Stiles makes a sound that definitely isn’t one of pain. Peter grins smugly, and says “There we go.”

He pulls back out and presses back in at a steady pace, making sure to hit his target, being careful not to pull out all the way, pacing himself. Stiles has a hand wrapped around his dick, and his eyes are wide as he pants and squirms under the onslaught of sensation. Peter keeps a firm hold on his hips and he rocks in and out, in and out, in a steady, rhythmic motion. Stiles has started making tiny mewling sounds, and it’s music to Peter’s ears. “That’s it, make some more noise for me,” he encourages, and starts to rock in and out slightly faster.

Stiles’ cries are breathy and desperate, and his hand is stroking himself faster. He starts to grunt every time Peter drives his hips forwards, and Peter glories in the sounds coming from his boy. Peter’s not going to last long, not in an ass this tight and new, but he doesn’t mind. Best to get the first time over quickly, so that Stiles still enjoys it. It wouldn’t do to make him too sore, not when they still have three days together.

He can introduce him to the sweet tortuous bliss of a long slow fucking later, maybe last thing before they leave. The thought of fucking Stiles till he’s wide open and aching and then watching him fidget and squirm for the whole ride home is an appealing one, Peter has to admit.

For now though, he can tell that Stiles is close. His breath is coming in short pants, and his hand’s moving rapidly as he chases his orgasm, but it seems he can’t quite get there. Peter takes a hand off Stiles’ hip, and remembering what the boy said earlier, reaches around and flicks at his nipple, hard. Stiles’ hips buck backwards harshly, and Peter does it again, before grabbing the hardening nub and pulling on it firmly. That’s all it takes to make Stiles come with a loud cry that might be _please,_ it’s hard to tell. His ass clamps down around Peter’s cock tightly, and Peter lets out a grunt. It feels just as good as he thought it would, as good as it always does with a new boy.

He doesn’t hold back now, slamming into Stiles with abandon as the boy goes limp beneath him. It only takes a few strokes for him to reach his peak, and he forces himself as deep as he can, flooding the boy’s insides with warmth and wetness.

Peter closes his eyes as he comes down from his orgasm, gathering himself. He wants nothing more than to collapse on top of Stiles and go to sleep, but he can’t allow himself to do that. Not yet.

Instead he pulls out slowly, enjoying the sight of Stiles’ formerly tight hole, now red and slick, looking much more like Peter thinks it should. He runs a finger around the rim gently, and Stiles makes a noise that might be a protest, or a request for more.

“Look at you, Stiles. You did so well. That was wonderful, my angel,” Peter says, laying down on the bed next to his boy so he can see his face. Stiles looks dazed, and Peter can’t blame him. His boy’s come three times in three hours, and had his ass wrecked. Peter leans over and kisses his temple.

Softly, fatherly. Like a priest would, if he was comforting one of his flock. 

“What do you need, my boy?” Peter asks in tender tones. Stiles doesn’t answer, but Peter can guess, if Stiles is anything like his other boys. “Would you like me to hold you?” he offers.

Stiles nods dumbly, and Peter arranges them so that Stiles is draped across his chest, arms around Peter’s neck. He strokes up and down Stiles’ spine with a firm hand, grounding him, murmuring praises about how good he was.

When can see that Stiles is a little more alert, Peter draws the boy closer, and asks “Did you enjoy that, Stiles?”

Stiles squirms under his gaze, and finally mutters “Yes and no.”

“You did wonderfully for a first time, but you didn’t really enjoy all of it, did you?” Peter presses.

Stiles shakes his head.

“Can you tell me what you didn’t like?” Peter asks.

Stiles sighs, finally gathering himself a little. “It hurt, at first. I didn’t like that part,” he says.

“But it got better?”

“Yeah, once I got used to it. It still aches, though,” Stiles confesses.

“Thank you for telling me, sweet child. Losing your virginity always comes with a little pain. Next time will be better, I promise.”

Stiles turns his head at that. “Next time?” he asks, looking incredulous.

“Of course, next time. We have to train your sweet body to open for me, so it feels good. It will take a few more times for that to happen.”  

Stiles looks like he’s about to object, but Peter continues,” The Lord himself _spoke to me_ , Stiles. He bade me to bring you pleasure. If you’re not enjoying yourself, I haven’t done as I was asked. And there are so many things I still have to show you.”

Peter turns on his most sincere expression as he says, “All I want, sweet boy, is to please you. Surely you won’t deny me that chance?”

He kisses the tops of Stiles’ head, and waits.

The answer comes, just as he knew it would.

“No, Father.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles is still tender the second time Peter takes him to bed, but that’s to be expected. Peter only managed to let the boy nap for an hour before the temptation was too great and he started working him open again. Peter soothes Stiles and strokes his back,  tells him that he’s only thinking of Stiles, that doing it so soon after the first time will help him stay open. He tells him to think of it like getting a shot.

He shows Stiles how to ride him, how to rock and grind his hips to find that sweet spot inside himself. By the end of it, Stiles is letting out sweet mewls of pleasure as Peter fucks him long and deep, while Stiles strokes himself to orgasm.

Afterwards, while Stiles lies flushed and trembling, Peter assures him that next time it should hardly hurt at all. Stiles doesn’t even question that there will be a next time, just says “Thank you, Father.”

“It’s my pleasure, child,” Peter says. He can see that Stiles has reached the end of his tether, so he runs him a bath and washes him, and feeds him sweet treats, and holds him in his arms, telling him how special he is, how blessed.

When he takes Stiles early the next morning, the boy barely awake, Stiles hardly makes a sound at the first press inside, and Peter praises him for it, telling him “You were made for this, Stiles. You barely felt that, did you? So open for me, like a good boy should be.”

Stiles rocks back against him, eyes closed, and doesn’t complain when Peter takes his pleasure hard and fast. If it hurts, he doesn’t tell Peter about it, and he’s hard throughout, so Peter thinks that he must have enjoyed it. Peter sucks him off afterwards, just to be sure.

Stiles really is perfect.

 

* * *

 

 

All through their second  and third day, as Peter lays him out naked and spends hours kissing and touching him, Stiles is eager and obedient.

He learns to finger himself open. He lets Peter put a silk blindfold on him and tie him to the bedposts.  He even lets Peter put a plug in him. And he seems to embrace it all, happy to do anything Peter asks of him.

The only thing he struggles with is blowjobs, and Peter decides he can live with that. Stiles’ sweet, welcoming ass more than makes up for it.

On their last afternoon there, Peter edges Stiles until he’s begging for release. Then, when he finally lets him come after an hour of teasing, and the boy’s lying limp and unresponsive, Peter fingers him open and starts fucking him long and slow, just like he fantasized. He paces himself, pistoning in and out of Stiles’ body steadily, taking his time.  When Stiles starts to squirm and whimper, Peter knows he’s taken this as far as he can without causing actual distress. He speeds up his thrusts and comes with a loud grunt, before collapsing in a heap.

The room’s silent except for his ragged breathing, until Stiles pushes at him and says quietly, “Father? Can you move?” Peter rolls off to the side, and looks at Stiles’ body in satisfaction. He’s done his best not to leave any marks, but there’s a patch of reddening skin on the boy’s inner thigh from his goatee, and one nipple is reddened and bruised from where Peter sucked and bit and tugged until he made Stiles come just from that.

His boy’s definitely not the innocent he was when they arrived. Even as Peter looks at the body spread before him, Stiles leans up and pulls him in for a filthy kiss. Peter responds, because his boy does have the sweetest mouth.

When they break apart, he asks “What was that for, my child?”

“Just, thank you. You said you’d teach me about my body, and you really did. I see now that there’s no sin in being who I am,” Stiles says.

Peter looks at him, surprised. He’d almost forgotten the flimsy story he came up with to get Stiles here. “I’m glad I could help, my son,” he replies.

Stiles rolls out of bed and walks to the shower, wincing a little. Peter hears the water start to run, and debates joining Stiles, but he knows the shower’s not really big enough for two, so instead he starts to pack.

When Stiles emerges, Peter takes his turn in the bathroom, and spends the time under the water reflecting on just how well this has gone. Stiles really was a wonderful choice, and he couldn’t have asked for more. It’s just a shame it’s over.

By the time he’s out, Stiles is packed and ready to go. Peter dresses, throws the last few items in his bag, and they head out. Stiles pulls a face as he gets in the car, and Peter hides his smile. He’s going to enjoy watching Stiles on the drive back.

 

* * *

 

 

He enjoys the drive back a lot less than he expected.

Oh, the first twenty minutes are fine, Stiles keeps casting him longing glances from under his lashes, and making little breathy sounds every time he moves, and Peter’s sorely tempted to pull over for one last hand job.

But then, out of the blue, Stiles asks, “Father, will you hear my confession? And can the car be our confessional?”

It’s an odd request, and Peter hopes that it doesn’t mean Stiles is having second thoughts. “Of course, Stiles,” he says. “But you do know, nothing we did this week was sinful. We did it because it was the divine will.”

“Oh yeah, I totally get that. That’s not what I’m talking about,” Stiles says, and there’s a sharpness to his expression that Peter hasn’t seen before.  

He starts to wonder if he should be worried, if Stiles is going to hand him over to his father. He doesn’t think he is, but there’s something going on here, and he doesn’t like it. Still, he has a part to play, so he says, “Go ahead and confess, Stiles. Whatever you say stays in the car.”

Stiles is silent for a moment, before he asks, “Father, how would I know if the Lord spoke to me?”

It catches Peter off guard, but he covers it by replying “That’s a good question, Stiles. Why do you ask?”

Stiles hesitates before saying “I think I’ve heard from him, Father.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “I’m happy for you, Stiles. What do you think he said?” he asks carefully. 

Stiles takes a deep breath. “The Lord spoke to me. He said, _Father Peter likes teenage boys, Stiles, and he’ll pretend to hear from me to get you into bed._ ”

Peter’s head snaps around, and Stiles winks at him. He hastily looks back at the road, and keeps a blank expression fixed on his face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says stiffly. He’s trying to decide if it’s preferable to  get dragged through the courts, or just let the Sheriff shoot him.

Stiles shoots him a knowing look, and says “How about you hear the rest of my confession, then. It might make things clearer for you.”

He settles back in his seat and begins to speak. “So, funny story. A new kid moved to Beacon Hills a couple of months ago, Danny." Peter stiffens imperceptibly at the name. "He started coming to youth group. We soon figured out that the other was gay, when we were both checking out the ass on the same guy. I asked him how he manages to go to church without feeling guilty. He told me a story of this _wonderful_ priest who came through his town. Raved about the guy. Says he took him away overnight and helped him reconcile his faith with his sexuality. Stop me if any of this sounds familiar, won’t you.”

Stiles is staring at Peter, and Peter’s staring straight ahead.

 _Shit shit shit_. Probably going to get shot, and _then_ dragged through the courts, Peter thinks.

Stiles picks up his tale in the face of Peter’s stony silence. “So, I ask him exactly how the guy did that. At first, he won’t tell me. But after a few weeks of me needling him, he comes clean and tells me that the priest took him to bed. Says the guy told him God spoke to him, told him to teach this poor boy about the pleasures of the flesh.” Stiles pauses, before saying “Said it was the most amazing night of his life. Said if a Father Peter ever came to town, I should do anything I could to catch his eye. So, I did.”

Peter pulls over and parks, before turning to face Stiles. “What exactly are you saying, Stiles?” he asks.

“Just that I wanted what you were offering. And I mean, it didn’t hurt that you’re really hot. Your reputation preceded you, and I knew you had a taste for seducing a certain type of boy, so I made sure I fit the bill.”

Peter’s brow furrows, and he can’t help but ask, “How?”

“Oh, it was easy. I gave you the big Bambi eyes, fluttered my lashes at you, acted the part. ‘ _Oh Father Peter, I think I’m gay, can you help me?’”_ he mimics in a teasing falsetto.

Peter shoots him a filthy look, but Stiles just shrugs, saying “Don’t give me that look, I’m not the one going around corrupting the innocents, _Father.”_

Peter sighs in frustration. ”What is it you want, Stiles?”

Stiles observes him for a minute silently, and Peter feels his nerves ratcheting up with every second that passes.  “Are you going to hand me over to your father?” he asks finally. Peter’s not in the mood for playing games. If it’s all going to come crashing down, he’d rather just know.

Finally, Stiles speaks. “No. I’m not going to hand you over to my Dad. I mean, I wanted this.”

Peter can’t believe that Stiles isn’t going to turn him in. “Why are you telling me this then, if you’re not going to do anything about it? Is it just to stroke your ego?”

Stiles shakes his head. Sees the confusion on Peter’s face and explains further. “I did a little research on you. You’re sketchy as hell, but you’re not a monster.  One, you won’t touch anyone under sixteen, and two, you don’t bed anyone who hasn’t shown at least a passing interest. I mean sure, you seduce the hell out of people, but you never force anyone. So, it’s not like you’re doing actual _harm_.”

Peter lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Stiles.”

Stiles holds up his hand. “Don’t thank me yet. I’ll keep quiet, but there are conditions.”

“Oh?” Peter is suddenly wary.

“Yeah. Firstly, I want you to apply for the opening at the Beacon Flats Parish. Their priest’s retiring next month. It’s seventy miles away from here. Close enough to drive, but far enough to avoid gossip."

That's not at all what Peter was expecting, but he takes a moment to think about it. "The bishop has been asking if I want to settle down," he muses.

Stiles continues,"Secondly, I want you to take me to bed regularly. I feel like we could have a lot more fun without the whole _Thus Saith the Lord_ bullshit.”

"I'd definitely be agreeable to that," Peter says.

“And finally, you don’t seduce anyone else. I don’t really think I want to share you. ”

Peter stares at him. "That's a lot to ask, Stiles" he says finally.

Stiles shrugs. "I know, but that's how it has to be." He gets a filthy smirk on his face and adds "Don't worry. If you really miss the thrill of seducing a boy, I'm sure we can roleplay a little.... _Father._ "

Peter can't help the way his breath catches in his throat, and Stiles' smirk widens.

“So, do we have a deal?” Stiles asks, and Peter wonders how he ever thought this boy was naïve.

”We have a deal,” he confirms. His head’s still spinning. He has no idea how, but somehow, Stiles has turned the tables on him completely. He’s not sure whether he’s dismayed or impressed.

He mostly impressed.

Before he starts the car again, he confirms “So, this conversation stays between us, Stiles?”

Stiles looks almost offended. “Are you implying I’d speak about something that happened in the confessional?”

Peter rolls his eyes and reminds him “That vow only actually applies to me, you know.”

Stiles grins. “I know. But I still won’t tell. Mainly because you really are good in bed. And I want to find out how much better you’ll be when you aren’t trying to twist scripture to get into my pants.” He snorts, and mutters “We must enter through the narrow gate to find paradise. I mean, really?”

Peter grins wickedly. “I’ll admit, that one was a stretch.”

He starts the car and they head towards Beacon Hills, driving in comfortable silence. Just as they hit the city limits, Stiles tilts his head thoughtfully, and says “There’s one more thing. I want you to let me fuck you. At least once.”

Peter grips the steering wheel tightly. “That’s….not something I normally do,” he says, knowing full well that Stiles is going to get what he wants, but feeling like he should at least put up a token protest.

Stiles smirks, and says “I figured. But I’ve taken your cock a few times now, and I feel I should return the favor. Aren’t you the one who was telling me it’s better to give than to receive?”

Peter has no answer to that.

 

* * *

 

 

Beacon Flats is a lovely town, and Peter settles into his role there easily. And if a certain Sheriff’s son wants to drive over and see him every few weeks for a private counseling session, nobody thinks anything of it.

Sometimes the boy even stays the night, if his father’s working. The townspeople comment on how kind Father Peter is to take the poor motherless boy under his wing.

He’s practically a saint, they tell each other.

 

 

 

 


End file.
